


Time and Time Again, Try and Try Again

by petalsandguitars



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon, Pre-Movie, Resilience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 02:55:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13965840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petalsandguitars/pseuds/petalsandguitars
Summary: The very night Héctor Rivera wakes up in the Land of the Dead, he swears to himself that he will cross the marigold bridge to see his family on the other side… if it’s the last thing he does.





	Time and Time Again, Try and Try Again

**Author's Note:**

> You can find my Tumblr post for this here: https://fedecolombo.tumblr.com/post/172683462967/.
> 
> Trade for the Coco Valentines Fanwork Exchange to the prompt of Héctor’s failed attempts to cross the marigold bridge.

That night of 1921 was a night like any other at the arrivals building in the Land of the Dead.

That was until one Héctor Rivera arrived.

He woke up in complete distress and one of the arrivals teams was trying to calm him down, like they often had to do with newcomers, especially those who suffered an untimely death.

He had been scared when he had seen them but now he had seemed to accept that this wasn’t a nightmare and that he was actually surrounded by skeletons in the Land of the Dead.

‘I can’t be dead,’ Héctor heaved out with difficulty, ‘I was going back, I have to go back – my wife, my daughter – I have to – ‘ he stammered and pushed himself off the bed he had found himself laying on and on which he had been now sitting on and he caught a glimpse of his hand and his eyes went wide.

In his desperation, he hadn’t thought that if the other deceased were skeletons, he would be one too.

It took the team long minutes to sort out every time Héctor started rambling, making little to no sense.

A woman from Héctor’s assigned team ushered the others away.

She sat next to Héctor who was now hiding his face in his hands, ‘Señor Rivera?’

He looked up at her, ‘Call me Héctor,’ he said, he didn’t know what else he could possibly say anyway.

‘This is never easy for anyone,’ she said gently, ‘but you’ll get through, I can assure you.’

‘I’m not worried about myself,’ Héctor said, ‘my family…’

‘They will surely put up your photo on their ofrenda, no? You will be able to visit them on Día de los Muertos,’ she tried to reassure him but Héctor shook his head, ‘My wife will never forgive me for not having come back… I won’t be on her ofrenda,’ he said, clenching the bed-sheets tight.

He then looked up again at that woman, ‘Can I still visit them? Is – is there a way? I’ll do anything.’

The woman held his gaze, ‘I’m sorry, Héctor… you won’t be able to cross over the bridge to the Land of the Living unless someone puts up your photo,’ she said and she truly did look sorry.

Right then, a few rows of beds away, someone else had woken up with a scream, making Héctor startle hard and the woman next to him jump up from the bed instinctively to rush there.

She looked at Héctor when she saw someone was already reaching the newly awoken skeleton, ‘Do you wish me to stay?’

‘It’s alright,’ Héctor said.

The woman gave him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder, then headed off.

Héctor though was lost in thought, there was a bridge to cross on Día de los Muertos to get to the Land of the Living.

 _I will cross that bridge_ , Héctor thought, ribacage heaving hard and fire in his eyes, _if it’s the last thing I do_.

 

And from that moment onwards, his only thought was crossing over to see his family.

Each and every year he had tried something new to cross that dumb flower bridge, as he had come to call it, but even though all of his efforts had been to no avail, he wasn’t about to give up.

This year he was nagging his rather unwilling friend Chicharrón to lend him his van.

‘What d’you need it for anyway?’ he asked, knowing the answer.

‘I – I need to learn how to drive those things,’ Héctor blatantly lied.

‘Don’t treat me like a fool, Héctor,’ Chicharrón growled, ‘I can still read a calendar, it’s almost Día de Muertos.’

Héctor stiffened at once, he was ready to beg him if necessary and he opened his mouth but was spoken over.

‘Aaah, you can take it,’ Chicharrón snapped, ‘if it helps you finally seeing your precious family.’

A big smile crossed Héctor’s skeletal lips and he actually hugged Chicharrón, lifting him up from the ground.

‘Get off, put me down!’ he snarled in response, pushing on Héctor’s face with the hand that was free from Héctor’s grateful yet steel-like grip.

Héctor obeyed after giving him a squeeze, ‘Thank you, Cheech!’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Chicharrón mumbled, ‘do you know how to drive it?’

Héctor froze, ‘Um…’, admittedly, he hadn’t thought about that as much as he should have probably had.

Chicharrón rolled his eyes and sighed, ‘You’re lucky I have a soft spot for you… stupid kid.’

Héctor looked at him, and Chicharrón nodded towards the door, ‘Come, I’ll teach you.’

A grateful smile crossed Héctor’s features and he opened his mouth to thank him but even though Chicharrón couldn’t see him, he spoke loudly before Héctor could, ‘Oh, shut up!’

Héctor took a few quick steps to catch up with Chicharrón and off they went to have some of the most ridiculous driving lessons in the history of the Lands of the Living and Dead.

When Día de los Muertos arrived, Héctor could still drive poorly, apparently driving wasn’t something on his talents’ list.

Chicharrón watched as that “stupid kid” was climbing into the van anyway, he really was ready to do anything.

The older man rolled his eyes, ‘Move,’ he said to Héctor and he climbed in after him, making him stumble backwards in the passenger’s seat.

‘Cheech?’ Héctor asked, and the other softened despite himself at hearing the note of panic in his voice, he was probably scared he had changed his mind about lending him the van.

‘You drive so badly, you’ll still be around the neighbourhood by sunrise,’ Chicharrón said simply, starting the engine with the keys he had snatched away from Héctor, ‘I’m driving you up to the bridges’ platform.’

Héctor felt another surge of affection towards him but before he could do anything, Chicharrón had snarled, ‘Don’t touch me,’ then he continued, ‘the platform is as far as I’m taking you though, I’m not getting mixed up in whatever you plan to do next.’

‘Thank you,’ Héctor said and he sounded so grateful that Chicharrón thought it was no wonder that he had a soft spot for this poor boy, he kept his eyes fixed on the road though, ‘Don’t mention it, kid.’

If Héctor had felt hopeful though, in the end it had served only to feel the pain of failure even more.

He had been brought to the hospital after the rough slamming into the barriers that had nearly crushed the van, but back then he had still thought it was going to work, only to see that the marigold bridge’s magic wasn’t working on the van either.

The police managed to get him out of the van before it was swallowed by the petals, never to be seen again.

He was now in front of a doctor, with two policemen standing just outside the door, he would have been locked up for the rest of the holiday after having received proper treatment.

His lowest rib on the left had snapped almost clean off and the doctor was just baffled when it fell off again after he tried putting it back the normal way, this sort of injury happened after all.

‘I’m – I’m sorry, I…’ said the doctor, at a complete loss.

‘It’s alright,’ Héctor said tonelessly, he couldn’t have cared less.

But the doctor didn’t give up, he called for some of his colleagues, who in turn tried their best to mend Héctor’s rib, but it was to no avail.

The two police officers looked like they actually felt bad for him when they brought him to a cell.

After they had shut the door behind him, Héctor laid slowly on the cold floor, feeling defeated and drained and trying his best not to start sobbing.

 

A few more years passed and now Héctor had two lists to keep count of his failures, one for the times he didn’t manage to cross the bridge and one for the times he was turned away by Imelda.

Once she had gone so far as to unleash her massive alebrije on him, and that’s how he had first met Pepita.

His plan for this year seemed both brilliant and ridiculous but he had headed off until he was nearby the Rivera workshop and by the time he knew the bridges were up, he had spotted his goal.

She was laying on the ground, licking her fur as Héctor approached her, ‘Hey Pepita,’ he said softly.

The large alebrije stared him down for a long minute before she resumed her cleaning.

Héctor bit on his lip, she hadn’t tried to pounce on him or scare him away, that was already something.

‘Listen, Pepita,’ he said then, by now he was sure that at least _some_ alebrijes were capable of understanding everything they were told and if that was true, he was more than sure that Pepita was amongst them, ‘I need to cross the marigold bridge,’ Héctor continued, feeling rather stupid.

She looked at him again and this time she kept her eyes on him, crossing her front paws and facing him directly.

‘I need to see Coco… my daughter,’ Héctor said, ‘if you could – give me a lift, maybe?’

Pepita kept staring at him unblinkingly.

‘I mean, if you could let me ride on your back,’ Héctor tried again, ‘you fly to the Land of the Living and – ‘ he realized that was all he wanted and needed, ‘you can even leave me there, just one flight.’

He remembered the constant reminder to be back before dawn, but he didn’t care, if he could see Coco, he was ready to take anything that would happen to him if he stayed in the Land of the Living come sunrise.

‘Come on Pepita, please,’ he said, a pleading in his voice, ‘help me.’

Pepita stood up and approached him, he resisted the impulse to back away from her, she could be rather scary and he had experienced that first-hand.

The alebrije sniffed him right over his face and to his surprise, she licked him.

He was there wide-eyed and even more so when he saw her turning half-way and laying on the ground again.

Héctor’s ribcage was heaving hard, he approached her tentatively and slowly and carefully climbed on her back.

He couldn’t believe she had just let him do that.

‘Will you – will you take me to the Land of the Living?’ Héctor said and it came out rather strangled.

Pepita answered with a strong and low purring noise and Héctor felt like a weight had been lifted from him.

He was going to be able to cross this time, he would have seen his Coco.

She was spreading her wings and Héctor could feel himself shaking from the anticipation and relief.

‘Pepita!’ a familiar voice called loudly and both the man and the alebrije’s eyes went wide.

Héctor looked around only to see his wife and her whole family standing beside her, they seemed as startled as he was.

‘I – Imelda,’ Héctor stammered.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she said back harshly.

Héctor had to take a couple of breaths, ‘I need to see Coco.’

Imelda’s gaze didn’t soften, ‘You have no right of saying that,’ and then, to Héctor’s horror, she said, ‘Pepita, come.’

The alebrije lowered herself on the ground and tilted her body to the side, a clear hint that Héctor should get off her.

Héctor’s first instinct was to hold fast to Pepita no matter what but instead he jumped down and approached Imelda, keeping a respectful distance almost unconciously, ‘Please… please Imelda, let me try.’

Imelda looked hard at him for a long moment, ‘Stay away from my family.’

Héctor felt as though she had just slapped him across the face, ‘No…’ he breathed out, ‘Imelda, please,’ he said, ‘please, I beg you.’

She looked at Pepita, ‘You stay away from him, understand?’ and the alebrije actually looked reproachful for a moment before she took flight and Héctor felt like he was going to scream from the pain.

Imelda then simply turned away to lead her family to the marigold bridge.

‘Imelda!’ Héctor called after her, ‘Imelda, please, don’t do this to me, let me see Coco, please!’ he pleaded.

For a moment, something inside Imelda faltered but then she resumed walking, ‘Stay away from my family,’ she repeated and headed off, the rest of the Riveras uncomfortably following in her wake after what had just happened.

They all heard the _clunk_ of bone on stone floor when Héctor fell to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably.

A little afterwards, they were a good distance away but still, the Rivera family could hear Héctor’s scream of pain.

 

‘My lasso?’ Chicharrón asked, puzzled for a moment, ‘How exactly do you plan on crossing that bridge with a lasso?’

‘I – I have a plan,’ Héctor simply said.

Chicharrón looked hard at him for a moment then started rummaging amongst his belongings and found it.

He tossed the neatly folded lasso at Héctor, who caught it, ‘Thanks, Cheech.’

‘Don’t mention it,’ Chicharrón said and headed back in his bungalow, slamming the door in Héctor’s face.

It wasn’t out of negative feelings towards him, on the contrary, he felt bad for Héctor and admired his strenght, but Chicharrón had never been good at dealing with his own emotions so that was the only way he knew how to handle this.

He didn’t imagine that Héctor actually understood.

Later, two guys from Shantytown whom had really taken a liking to Héctor, came back from the city, looking defeated.

Not a moment passed before someone asked for news.

They told the story and Chicharrón was listening carefully from his bungalow’s window about how Héctor had managed to lure an officer in a dark alley and then proceeded to have a struggle with him, managing to steal his uniform and tie him up just to be let through the barriers and in the end, remain stuck neck-deep in the marigold bridge.

He was now in the usual cell at the police station.

Chicharrón had heard enough, he closed the window and went to sit on his own, feeling an ache where his heart once had been, an ache that felt only too painful come morning when he saw what had happened to Héctor.

He had come to apologize for he didn’t have the lasso anymore, and Chicharrón saw his newly broken rib.

Héctor’s bones were not healing in the slightest anymore, and that could only mean one thing.

Chicharrón’s hand unconciously went to his skull, touching his own roughly patched wound before he figured what he was doing and forcibly snapped out of it.

When he looked back to Héctor, the young man was hiding his face in his hand, shaking with violent yet silent sobs.

Chicharrón had never been good at dealing with his own emotions alright, but that didn’t prevent him from having a kind heart, he approached Héctor and steered him to sit on a low stool.

To Héctor’s greatest surprise, Chicharrón wrapped his arms around him and held him tight.

‘Thank you, Cheech,’ Héctor stammered out in between sobs.

‘Don’t mention it,’ he answered, ‘in fact, if you mention this to anyone, you’ll be sorry you did,’ Chicharrón said, but he was smiling.

And at that, Héctor couldn’t help but smile too before he reached up with his hands to hold on tight to Chicharrón, he wasn’t ready to let go yet and the older man let him stay hidden in his embrace for as long as it took Héctor to calm down.

 

Precisely one year later, Chicharrón found himself asking, ‘My mini-fridge?’ and this time, he thought Héctor had actually lost it.

‘I – I have a plan,’ came Héctor’s usual reply.

‘You know what? Take it,’ Chicharrón waved his hand in the mini-fridge’s general direction, ‘just take it.’

‘Thank you, Cheech – ‘ Héctor made a move as usual and Chicharrón jumped back, ‘And don’t hug me!’

Héctor had to chuckle but then he knew he had to move, he grabbed the mini-fridge and headed off.

It was a long-shot and could have been seen as a testament to Héctor’s poor knowledge of technology but he didn’t have much to pick from, the mini-fridge would have to make-do.

He managed to sneak in the police station and to where he had found out the whole system of computers and scanners were operating.

He didn’t really know how to pull this off, the idea was to have all of those shortcircuit in the hope that everything connected to them would fail to work for as long as it would take him to try and cross over.

He realised that he actually had no idea how to pull this off, and every moment that passed, it felt like more and more of a long-shot that a mini-fridge could actually do the trick for him.

He felt his frustration rise and in the end, he simply plugged the small machine unceremoniously in amongst all the cables and almost instantly there was a loud noise and the room went completely dark.

Somehow it had worked, those plugs were made specifically for authorized machines, he knew that, but he hadn’t dared hope so much that anything else at all would actually cause them to shortcircuit.

He broke into a run, and on and on he went, going almost unnoticed at the barriers for the confusion the shortcircuit of every scanner had caused.

But when his foot connected to the petals, he could feel the all too familiar feeling of sinking.

He had to spend more than just the holiday in a cell this time when they found out that he had been the cause of that mess and of all the delays at the departures.

 

Years passed, Héctor had left Shantytown days earlier than Día de los Muertos this time and no one knew his plan.

They wouldn’t have found him either if they went looking for him, for he was perched on one of the tiers of the stone part of one of the bridges, waiting.

He tried to think of anything but his plan, because it sounded really stupid if he thought about it.

And then, when the fateful midnight tolled, the marigold bridges connected to the stone platforms and he climbed back up until he was just below the petals.

He tried grabbing hold of a fistful, feeling like the heart he didn’t have anymore was racing and to his astonishment, those didn’t break apart from the rest of the bridge.

He held on fast and reached fowards with his free hand, his feet leaving the stone platform.

He could barely register what was happening, the moment his whole weight had had to be supported by the flower bridge, the fistfuls of petals had broken apart from it and he fell.

He couldn’t help the scream that left him as he thought this would have been his very last try, he surely wouldn’t have been able to move anymore after _that_ fall.

He did hit something, but it was rather soft.

He looked down and saw his fall had been cut short by a netting.

Only when he was brought to the police station did he find out why that was there.

‘We put that there after you pulled off the van stunt,’ the officer said rather casually, ‘made us realize that it could have come in handy.’

Héctor was barely listening, his expression dark and a feeling of emptiness inside of him, and this time, they didn’t even lock him up.

 

The next year, Héctor was accompanied by a friend from Shantytown for the first time.

They had hidden themselves on the steps of the stone bridges, like he had done the previous year, and when the marigold sections appeared they started climbing down the tall stone steps.

There must have been some foundation to those things, they must have been built on something and now that the marigold bridges had appeared, a path to the other side must have as well.

And so they climbed down and down.

Héctor felt the urgency and desperation increase and wash over him in waves as the hours passed and they kept moving down, and there was still no sign that suggested they were getting closer to some sort of ground.

‘Cousin Héctor?’ the other said tentatively at some point.

‘What?’ he asked, still looking down, still praying to see the end of it.

‘We… we should go back…’ the boy said.

Héctor’s eyes went wide, ‘What?’ he said again but this time he looked up at his companion.

He felt a pang of dread when he saw his expression, and he didn’t need to say anything at all.

Héctor slowly turned to look behind himself, sunrise had come.

He instinctively looked up, only to see the marigold bridges disappear.

It took them even more hours to climb back up for the stone steps really were tall.

Héctor let himself collapse on the stone platform once they reached it.

‘Cousin?’ the other tried, ‘Let’s – let’s head back.’

‘You go ahead,’ Héctor said, without looking at him, ‘I’ll be on my way.’

 

As more and more years passed, Héctor had grown more than desperate.

This would be the ninety-fifth year he would try to cross over and he knew he was running out of time.

He had admittedly spent so much of the past year drinking to try and drown his pain that he didn’t even have a plan anymore.

Día de los Muertos came and Héctor had reached the departures area.

He had no plan and he had no tricks this time.

He simply went from a tollbooth to the next, and literally begged the person in charge of it to let him pass.

The police officers knew him well by now, and they pitied him so much that they actually let him be.

After he had asked and pleaded with literally everyone, Héctor let himself fall down on the stone floor, and he felt himself crumble.

He held his legs to his chest and hid his face against his knees.

He gave a hard startle when he heard a woman’s voice close to him, ‘Señor?’

Héctor looked up to see a kind-looking woman and she gave him a sad smile, ‘I saw what happened,’ she said almost apologetically, ‘even if I can’t help you cross the bridge… is there – is there anything I can do for you?’

And right then and there, Héctor thought that maybe… just maybe…

‘You can cross over?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she said gently.

He stood up quickly, almost startling her, ‘Could you – ’ he said, putting his hand in his pocket and pulling out an old picture, ‘could you take this with you?’

He handed her the photo, _his_ photo, with care, feeling like he was giving away his very last hope to someone he had never seen before.

‘I never knew anyone who could cross,’ Héctor explained, ‘but maybe… if you can put this on an ofrenda, any ofrenda, I – I could cross too,’ he said, a feeling of rekindled hope burning inside him despite himself.

‘I can try, of course,’ the woman said.

Héctor started breathing hard, ‘Thank you! I just – thank you…’ he said, he really had no other words.

‘No need to thank me, and…’ she looked sad now, ‘even less if it doesn’t work.’

Héctor shook his head, ‘I thank you anyway for your kindness.’

They exchanged a sad smile and she headed off.

Héctor kept his eyes on her as long as he could see her and then he waited.

Every hour or so, in case she had succeeded, he sumbitted himself to the scanner, only to be refused each and every time.

Hours passed and when sunrise was approaching, he felt panic overwhelm him.

What if he wasn’t even going to get his photo back? What if the photo, his very last hope to cross, had just been lost forever?

He hadn’t realized that he had walked all the way to the edge of the stone platform, trying to get a better view of the bridges, moving his eyes feverishly in search for that woman.

Moments later he heard her voice and he spun round.

She was there, his photo in her hands.

‘I’m sorry…’ she said, ‘I tried every ofrenda I saw, but the photo isn’t solid on… the other side…’ she said and she truly sounded sorry.

She held his photo out for him and he took it.

‘Thank you for having tried to give me this chance…’ Héctor said, and he was sincere.

The woman looked at him, she looked really sad and defeated, ‘I’m sorry, señor.’

‘Héctor,’ he replied and gave her a sad smile, ‘it’s Héctor.’

She returned him the same smile and reached out a hand, taking his free one in hers and giving it a gentle squeeze.

Héctor felt so moved by the gesture that he thought he could have cried had he still been able to shed tears.

‘Thank you,’ he said again and a long moment passed, he slowly pulled his hand away then, ‘goodbye,’ he said and he headed back to Shantytown for what, he thought, might as well be the very last time.

There, he had to tell about his failure to his concerned family and two of his best friends literally dragged him to their bungalow to have a drink.

They started drinking and talking, trying to get Héctor’s mind off things and trying to get him to drink as well, to forget.

But Héctor didn’t have the strenght to chug even one shot, he simply stood there, feeling empty as never before.

When the other two were completly wasted despite their good intentions, one looked at him and Héctor noticed only because he had put a hand over his shoulder.

‘You know what, cousin Héctor?’ he said, ‘You look a lot like Frida Kahlo.’

The other slowly registered what had been said and then looked at Héctor, ‘Well, I’ll be damned, you do.’

Héctor shook his head and gave them the best smile he could muster, ‘I think you’ve had enough.’

‘I should think so too,’ said one of them, ‘and we didn’t manage to help you in the slightest,’ he added, sounding incredibly sober with sadness for the amount of alcohol he had drunk.

‘It’s alright,’ Héctor said gently, ‘go to bed now.’

He actually helped them both into bed before he left for his own bungalow.

He laid his hat aside and climbed into his bed under some covers, just to feel more protected, sheltered against his own feelings and emotions.

As he tried to sleep, he couldn’t help but think about his possible resemblance to Frida Kahlo and right then and there, he knew that if he would still be there by next year, he had a plan as to what he would do to try and cross the marigold bridge for the ninety-sixth time. He slowly drifted into an unexpectedly comfortable sleep and dreamt of being with his family, they were crossing the bridge together, hand in hand and, even though asleep, he had never felt so happy in decades, little did he know that what would happen the next year was going to change everything forever.


End file.
